


The Picture of Draconian Gaze

by AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, BFFs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Portraits, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Quidditch, Slow Burn, The Golden Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield/pseuds/AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield
Summary: It all begins with a letter, well three letters. Three invitations to join the Horskin Museum of Wizarding Portraiture, the biggest wizarding portrait gallery in the UK. Harry, Ron and Hermione agree to be immortalised on canvas together and everything seems peachy until they realise just who is going to be painting them. Harry realises that maybe Malfoy isn't quite the same ferrety git he remembers.'Painting is just another way of keeping a diary.' - Pablo Picasso
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	The Picture of Draconian Gaze

Dear Mr Potter,

Thank you for your service. I am writing to inform you that the Horskin Museum of Wizarding Portraiture desires the honour of displaying a portrait of you in our new wing. As I am sure you are aware a position in this historical museum is very prestigious and preserves your achievement through the many peaceful years to come. We request a meeting with Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and yourself in order to discuss the details of your depiction and scheduling for sessions.

Yours sincerely

Miss Dalta Fesiwick

P.s A personal declaration of thanks to you. My niece was enrolled in Hogwarts during the war and my family owes you a debt of gratitude for her safe return.

Harry sank back into the sickeningly plush green settee in Grimmauld Place and looked down at the letter in his hand. He had to admit he almost hadn’t opened it. The enchanted chest in the study held far too many letters that he had never gotten around to opening. Of course, any howlers had found themselves incinerated without a second thought but within the first week, he’d received two sacks full of letters. Of course, the house still had some level of secrecy surrounding the address but the lucky letters that actually made it to him were dropped on the pavement outside. Harry had quickly opened an official postage address at Twit To-Who Owlery in Diagonal Alley to stop the muggles next door from becoming suspicious. Sadly this meant he got even more post than he had before as this address became public knowledge. Ron and Hermione, who had moved in with him after the war, also had all their correspondence sent there, it was just easier that way.

Today he had dropped by to collect the household post, 2 letters for Ron, 6 for Hermione and 18 for himself thankfully banded together by category. 9 love and or adoration letters, 4 business proposals, 2 official letters, and 2 personal letters from friends. He found it hard to understand how Mr Throwick, a tiny man with a moustache much like a corkscrew, always looked so happy surrounded by the mass of envelopes constantly flitting around the shop. Needless to say, he had become much busier when he had taken him as a client. Mr Thorwick conducted certain checks were on the letters, checking for any harmful curses, love spells, jinxes etc. Through Harry’s suggestion, due to the sheer quantity of letters and gifts he received, all letters were scanned for certain predetermined buzzwords and phrases such as ‘I love you’ or ‘my hero’, saving Harry the time of reading 10-20 love declarations a day thinking they were something important. The gifts, not sent by anyone on his approved friend's list, went to the Bartholomew’s Home for Young Orphaned Witches and Wizards, which they sold at bimonthly events. The list almost solely consisted of Weasleys and Gryffindors, allowing him to never miss a package of Mrs Weasley's rock cakes or whatever weird but well-meaning plant Neville would send him.

It had been almost two years since the war, although at times it felt like yesterday he had stood in the crumbling corridors of his only real childhood home. Of course, the Wizarding world was still trying to heal itself from the damage Voldemort and his followers had inflicted, but things were getting better, and that had to count for something. There was so much corruption in so many different areas of the Ministry, it reminded Harry of a really big box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Sure there were some lovely strawberry, popcorn and lemon drizzle cake beans in the Ministry but there were still a fair few rusty nail, rotten banana and baby shampoo beans as well. This lead to a lot of firing, promoting and hiring in the Ministry in the months following, as every corrupt job needed a replacement. Worst of all were the officials that required public or Wizengamot election.

Harry had been hounded with sycophantic letters, talking about their goals in office, their admiration for him, and everything they had in common. They were the equivalent of a guidance counsellor sitting on a chair backwards and trying to relate to you and the whole thing made Harry feel super awkward. All too many of them came to Harry asking for support, for him to publicly state his preference for Kinsey Harrow to be Minister, for Tilda Buggle to be head of the Wizengamot. Even at one point a plea to announce his support for Barry Hampstead to be head of the Wizarding Public Food Health and Safety committee. Harry hadn't been quite sure why anyone would think he'd have any particular influence in the culinary industry, it wasn't like he'd killed Voldemort with an allergen labelled baguette after all. He'd hid very quickly from Mr Hampstead and hoped never to run into him again.

Of course, sadly the damage wasn’t solely to the social fabric of Wizarding society. The damage was physical. There had been days you could hardly walk through Diagon Alley, the streets filled with business owners and volunteers casting desperate spells at fire-damaged shop fronts. People who had been too scared to leave their homes for the past year or so weaving between workers carrying crates of stock deliveries back into the shops. Not to mention the state Hogwarts had been in. Harry had only been back to the castle once since the battle, and he often debates if that had been a mistake. He and Ron had gone to speak to McGonagall, partly looking for advice on potentially applying to an Auror program but mostly to check she was ok. She had smiled at him before giving him a once over and tutting softly before promptly opening a small wooden box of biscuits and sliding it closer towards him.

He’d also spoken to portraits of Snape and Dumbledore during his visit. The pair seemed to natter on with each other like a pair of old biddies, Harry found it frankly bizarre to see the pair so chummy but heartwarming none the less. He knows the portraits aren’t really alive, they’re not the people Harry actually knew. He knew those people were gone but the portraits seemed to have feelings and he for one was glad they were happy. The warmth he felt from the interaction with the three headmasters quickly vanished though as they walked past several house elves and a volunteer wizard attempting to fix a gaping hole in one of the castle walls. That had been where he’d seen first Lavender Brown’s body, her throat torn and bloody. He doesn’t remember much after that. The was a swell of panic and sweat and the next thing he knew he and Ron were outside Grimmauld place. They had looked at each other, both wanting to say something that would bring the other peace. But neither knew what to say, so they said nothing. He hadn’t been back since. Too many ghosts.

He looked up at the clock on the mantel. Hermione should be home soon, followed by Ron within an hour. He tried to swell the pang of guilt he felt at not having a particulalry difficult 9 to 5 job like the other two. He’d been unemployed for a fair time before his current job but he was financially stable enough that he didn’t need to work for a while. This house was his own, there was little he needed to pay for and much of that was either free or heavily discounted. Hermione had said that this feeling was simply a product of doing a job you enjoy and that her mum had often felt like that. She had rattled on that if you love your job you never work a day in your life, but it hadn't made Harry feel that much better. He and Ron had both applied for Auror training, about 6 months after the war, when they had allowed themselves to sleep and eat and emotionally recharge at least a little. Or at least, that’s what Ron had done and Harry had lied to himself about doing. When the physical test had come a few weeks into the application process Harry had failed. He’d seen the awkward look on the trainer's face as he failed to meet the minimum weight restriction and had failed some of the physical strength tests. He sympathised with the poor guy, no doubt it was difficult to tell the saviour of the Wizarding World that he wasn't strong enough. At the time he had been disheartened, hoping that perhaps they would make an exception for him, but they hadn’t. Looking back he was glad.

He had agreed to go away and put on some more weight, exercise and just recuperate. They would always take his application for the next hiring season, they even said they’d carry over his exam and strategy assessment, leaving him with only a physical and mental check to pass. He supposed he hadn’t really considered how little he had eaten during the war. His body just stopped telling him he was hungry, that or he didn’t even notice the signs anymore. So he had somehow maintained some of those habits, eating once a day, maybe twice when prompted by Hermione or Mrs Weasley. He had been sleeping but in the way he had trained himself to whilst they were camping. A light sleep that allowed him to jump into action at any moment. He found himself frequently awakened by a small noise, somebody shuffling in a bed, the wind, Kreacher's midnight dusting. At first, he had dreaded his attempt to work himself back to healthy body weight but everyone had been supportive. Ron did strength circuits with him in the garden also determined after failing his physical, Hermione had helped him plan what to eat, Molly fed him within an inch of his life any chance she got.

He’d been doing this for almost three months and was finally sleeping a little more peacefully when Ginny mentioned that The Gillyweed Guards, an up and coming Quidditch team coached by Chuddly Cannons ex-beater Arty Perth, was looking for a seeker. Evidently his interest in the team did not go unnoticed by Ginny as she invited him to watch their next game and made introductions. Arty was a tall attractive blond with a blinding smile beneath his very crooked nose. He’d informed the pair that night in a nearby pub that their current seeker was going to be leaving the team within the next 6 months to a year, depending on the speed at which her father's health declined, and they were looking to train her replacement with a few months to spare before World Cup qualifier matches. Harry had told Arty about his experience quickly followed by his current health and how long it had been since he’d flown. The man had nodded, giving Harry a once over and telling him he looked pretty good already. Harry had tried not to blush, as the coach continued to inform him that not only could the club provide personal training specific for quidditch players but they could give him the opportunity to fly on a pretty big pitch whenever he liked. He had agreed to think about it, and sat in the kitchen staring at the wall for a long time before realising he’d made the decision sat in the pub.

He was almost surprised but how quickly his mind had made itself up. He adored flying, that was never in doubt, he was good at it and it was just enough of a risk to his life to be interesting. One fire call later he was in training to become a professional seeker. He had spent months training his legs, core and forearms, shocked at the difference the strength he developed made to his gameplay. His PT had him doing a tonne of stretching and yoga to increase his flexibility and range of motion. Harry has been fairly mortified to find that he hadn’t been able to even touch his toes before he’d begun training. The team became friendly with him in a quick but genuine way and for the first time in years, Harry made new friends. Now, in the run-up to the qualifiers for the World Cup, he spent half of his time training on the pitch or at home going over strategy notes. He was under strict instructions to look after himself and not exhaust himself through overtraining. So here he was. Sat on a cushy sofa, feeling like he’d done nothing all day.

‘Harry, you will not believe the nonsense I dealt with today from wizards who should know better.’ Hermione huffed as she came into the room. She let her bag drop from her shoulder onto the floor. The sound of heavy books and wads of parchment falling echoed in the large room. She winced. ‘I’m so sorry!’ She sighed, looking at her bag mournfully.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, she had done this for as long as he could remember. Apologising to books, thanking them, bargaining with those she didn’t understand. It would seem mad if it was anyone but Hermione. Harry couldn’t help but remember the time Hermione accidentally ripped a page almost clean out of a book and the meltdown that followed. She had been inconsolable, despite the fact that it was perhaps one of the cheapest mass-produced muggle textbooks Harry had ever seen. There was no doubt literally thousands of identical copies of that book and yet she sulked and didn’t rest until she found the right charm to protect it against any further damage. No doubt it was the most indestructible book on Earth, and it had been about native birds of the Caribbean of all things. Hardly crucial information in her line of work. Why she had been reading it God only knows, but as Ron often says if there are words on paper Hermione has read them.

‘What’s happened now?’ Harry sighed feeling himself sink so far back into the settee he was mildly concerned it may actually be eating him alive and he just been slow to notice. No doubt if he relaxed any further, he’d find himself being digested.

‘Well.’ Hermione huffs, dropping beside Harry. ‘You know that awful Medford guy I told you about, big beard and talks about “girls muggle tennis” with so much enthusiasm it feels improper.’ She waves her fingers in quotation. Harry nodded, feeling slightly alarmed. Hermione’s hair was far fluffier than it had been when she left the house, that only meant one thing: rage. ‘Well, he had the absolute nerve to motion, while we're not even talking about school attire, in front of the entire committee that he thinks that tennis miniskirts should be added to uniforms across all Wizarding schools.’ Harry grimaced.

‘Oh, hold onto your Pygmy puffs Harry Potter, it gets worse.’ She adds almost hysterically. ‘Then awful Brenda Patterson says, “I don’t think that would be quite appropriate” and I think, thank god she’s finally said something I can agree with, but then she adds “the last thing we want to do is distract young wizards. They are the future of this government after all.”’ Hermione screws up her face and feints a haughty inflexion as she recites the conversation. Her hair seemed to increase in volume slightly.

‘Jesus.’ Harry grimaces. ‘Kids in miniskirts that’s not creepy at all.’

‘Exactly! Let alone the fact that she seems to think we can only rely on men to go into politics. _She’s a woman_. Granted being a speaker in the Department of Education is not the same as being Minister for Magic but come on!’ Hermione explodes, her hair finally deflating a little. Harry wonders if her magic makes it do that. There is a moment of quiet simply filled with Hermione’s frustrated breathing. 'Did you know he's 80 years old? Why someone hasn't made him retire yet is beyond me.' She sighed, rubbing her face in exasperation.

‘Would you like some pumpkin juice? Ron got you some yesterday.’ He asked, heaving himself from the settee’s clutches with considerable effort. 

‘Oh lord please.’ She sighed, falling back into the settee, her head tipped back as her eyes fell shut. Harry considered mentioning his carnivorous settee theory but thought better of it. He'd taken less than two steps towards the adjacent kitchen when Kreacher appeared in front of him with a glass. 

'Were you spying on us again?' Harry asked, unsure why he was even bothering to ask. They'd offered him a position in the Hogwarts kitchens but somehow Harry couldn't help but feel like taking the elf from his beloved home was a bit cruel. Of course, then Hermione had tried to start paying him, an idea that he had refused on multiple occasions. In the end, Hermione just started handing him envelopes of money each month. Kreacher had simply sorted away into a drawer he called the Mistress's Savings. Harry and Ron never told her about the drawer, agreeing it was the path of least resistance to let her think she was paying him.

'No Master Harry, Kreacher was simply dusting at the other end of the hallway.' Kreacher replied waving his dusting rag before turning back down the hall. 'Perhaps Kreacher wouldn't have heard if the Mistress and Master spoke with indoor voices.' He added under his breath as he walked away. Harry sighed.

‘There’s a letter for you.’ He said as he put her glass down on the table in front of her, deciding to sit in the gothic wingback armchair instead of the settee. He was not sure he trusted it. ‘There’s one for Ron as well. I think it’ll say something similar to mine.’ He passed her the letter and she began to open it carefully.

‘A portrait?’ She frowned. Harry didn’t even react to the frightening speed in which she had absorbed the page of information.

‘Yeah, a golden trio poster as the paper would say.’ Harry snorted. Hermione quirked her lip and rolled her eyes. Harry almost couldn’t decide if it had been worse when the press adored him or hated him. In the few months following the war there had been so many ‘heart-warming’ stories and adoring articles it had been almost ridiculous. Articles detailing the stories of their triumphs to multiple pages on Harry’s favourite kind of sweets. Even stories that hadn’t involved Harry directly, a fan club showing off their ‘our golden trio’ tattoos and an entire ward in the St Mungo’s Maternity Hospital naming their sons Harry. The idolisation was frankly sickening at times. Then, of course, things mellowed out after a while. However, Harry’s relief had been short-lived as the Prophet kindly outed him in an expose two months ago.

‘Do you think we’ll all be together?’ He asked thoughtfully. His mind drifted back to the headmaster’s office all those months ago and Dumbledore and Snape chatting together happily.

‘In the same painting?’ He nods. ‘Hmm I don’t really know.’ She answered thoughtfully. ‘There were plenty of group portraits in Hogwarts as well as those with a single subject.’

‘I think we’d be better off in the same portrait.’ He said, more thinking out loud than speaking to his friend. ‘Then- well we’d always be together wouldn’t we.’ He shrugged. She smiled at him warmly.

‘Our portraits would be able to visit each other in separate frames.’ She says softly, her eyes warm.

‘Yeah but like what if one of them gets damaged or something.’ He insisted, wringing his fingers nervously. Hermione patted his hand. He knew it was probably silly, to project his fear of losing his friends onto a painting, but it had just been so hard after the war. During the war, he had had to attempt to mentally prepare himself for loss, and while he deeply feared it, he knew in his heart the probability of losing Ron or Hermione was high. After Voldemort died, he found that while the chances of them dying was so much slimmer now, he was still just ad afraid if not more.

‘Oh, Harry.’ She sighed. There was a comfortable silence between the pair for a moment. ‘So, you want to do it then?’

‘Hmm?’ He almost jumped, pulled from his thoughts suddenly. ‘Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it loads, I guess. If it was just me, I would probably just throw the letter away but, the three of us.’ He mused. ‘I kinda like the idea of immortalising our friendship, if that makes sense.’

‘It does.’ Hermione nods. ‘I must admit the idea is alluring. You remember just how much the portrait at Hogwarts helped us when we needed it.’

‘Cadogan.’ Harry sighed fondly. Hermione laughed.

‘Now he was inspiring.’

…………………………………………………………………….

Ron finally came home half an hour later looking tired. He slouched in, kissed Hermione’s cheek and slid into the chair. ‘I am exhausted.’ He sighs. ‘They had me do the bloody fitness test _again_ despite the fact I’ve been out of Auror Training a month now. Must have lost the record he said. If the prick wasn’t my brother, I’d say it was personal.’

‘Percy lost another file?’ Harry asks with a frown. That wasn’t like the pencil-pushing perfectionist he knew. Ever since Percy has taken over the Department of Personnel Records, the department had been praised to no end for its organisation and efficiency.

‘Yeah, George reckons it’s a girl.’ He grumbled. ‘Says the only other time he’s ever seen him lose track of stuff like that was when he fancied that Herbology substitute professor, you remember her Harry?’ He nodded to the other man with a quirk of his lip.

‘Miss Hettin.’ They both sighed in appreciation. Damn right Harry remembered her, so did every other student of that inclination. Katie Bell always referred to her as her sexual awakening, her fellow Gryffindor boys simply nodded in understanding. She had not only been stunning but very genuine, kind. Harry tried to resist the urge to wonder where she was now. If she was still alive. If a light was still shining in her smile or if the darkness of the past few years had broken her, maybe left her mourning.

‘You’re both disgusting. Is there anything more to a woman than large breasts?’ Hermione huffed, crossing her arms in disapproval. Harry shook his head slightly, willing himself to remember her the way he'd seen her then, rather than the horrors he could imagine.

‘Don’t ask Harry.’ Ron shrugged. ‘He’s gay.’ Harry was pulled away from his thoughts. He wondered if Ron had noticed a hint of darkness in his expression. He wondered if he’d said it because he knew it would pull Harry back into the room.

‘I’m bisexual, Ron. Telling yourself I’m gay doesn’t mean I didn’t have sex with Ginny.’ He retorts, smirking at the sickened face Ron pulls. Hermione giggled. Ah, Ginny, that had been a short-lived romance. After the war, Harry had barely been in any kind of state to speak to his closest friends let alone kindling a relationship with someone. She had understood, of course, but their relationship couldn’t survive the weird stasis it fell into the months after the war. It was not that they grew apart per se, they had barely seen each other for the entirety of the war after all. It was more like they just never managed to grow romantically close enough in the first place.

Ginny had later admitted that whilst she deeply cared about Harry her feelings did seem to be more of crush that she grew too attached to. But things like that happen during war. People need something to hold onto, and if that thing the thought of a relationship with someone they care for, then who could begrudge them that? It was a romance they need at the time, but when the world settled around them and they quickly realised it was both not the right time and perhaps never will be. They had a fairly amicable breakup all things considered. Of course, a few Weasley dinners had been awkward in the beginning, Molly attempting to disguise her disappointment and Harry and Ginny trying to show that they were fine with each other in a way that felt overacted and a little forced. Sometimes people just didn’t fit when they once might have. That’s life.

‘I’m going to be sick.’ Ron gags dramatically, finger splayed against his chest in shock. ‘You and Ginny- just wrong, it’s-it’s like incest it is. You’re my honorary brother, she’s my sister, just-‘ He gags again. Harry laughs, no matter how many times Ron had called him that it still warmed his heart. Not long after the war, the Weasleys had announced over dinner that no matter what had happened Ginny and Harry or what may happen between Ron and Hermione, they would always be honorary Weasleys. There may have been a few teary eyes as they revealed their new clock with two additional hands. The Harry and Hermione hands rested by home along with the other Weasleys, excepting Charlie who was seemingly in a forest and Percy who was of course at work. Fred’s picture stayed in its place above George’s as everyone agreed that wherever George was Fred’s spirit was nearby.

‘Mate, has that test exhausted your brain as well as your body? You’re talking nonsense.’ Harry said teasingly, pushing Ron’s shoulder fondly. Hermione opened her mouth to speak when she is cut off by the appearance of Kreacher who promptly tells them food is in the upper dining hall. They thanked him then collectively sighing as soon as he disappeared.

‘Why can’t he just serve it in the kitchen?’ Ron moans. ‘It’s right there, look I can touch it.’

‘Oh leave him alone Ron, he likes formal dinners.’ Hermione sighed but there was no annoyance behind it. They start the trek to the fourth floor, all the while Ron complains that there ‘ain’t nothing formal about us eating’.

…………………………………………………………………….

‘Did you go to the pitch today, Harry?’ Ron asked as he began to tuck into the roast dinner Krecher had prepared for them.

‘Hmm? Oh no, it’s an off day. Won’t even let me in the building.’ Harry laughed trying not to look glum but evidently failing. The couple chuckled from across the table.

‘Who’d have thought they’d have to lock you out for your own good.’ Hermione sighed.

‘Well, it is Harry, ‘Mione. You know what he’s like.’

‘I’m right here thanks!’ Harry complained, waving his hands as though they hadn’t spotted him.

‘You have an obsessive personality type you know you do mate and you know how Perth always bangs on about rest.’ Ron insisted. Harry pretended not to notice the small smile that touched Hermione’s lips as Ron parroted her words from the other week.

‘Yeah yeah.’

‘How are you feeling about the qualifiers?’ Hermione asked, a question she posed to him at least once a week for the past few months. He couldn’t help but feel like she was testing him, to check he wasn’t teetering on the edge of going back to how he been after the war. Quiet, anxious and just constantly feeling as though he hadn’t slept in two months.

‘Ok, the paper strategy stuff isn’t really my style, to be honest, but I’m flying well and my catch rate is at 92% which is alright.’ He shrugged. He always had been a do it on the day kind of guy. Sure a plan was nice, and often plans worked or at least started off working, but Harry preferred to just sort of do it and figure it out as he went along. It has worked out ok for him so far.

‘Heathers only had a 84% rate and he played in 3 World Cup finals in ‘86, ‘88 and ‘90.’ Ron said pointedly, spearing a carrot with his fork. ‘Mate, just think fame and glory of a quidditch champion.’ He added dreamily.

‘Hey, fame and glory?’ Harry frowned before pointing at himself. ‘Already got that.’ Hermione rolled her eyes in fond disapproval.

‘You best sign me a bunch of posters to sell to people at work.’ Ron added thoughtfully. ‘But then again I’d have to see your ugly mug all over the office.’ He added with a grin. Harry was gearing up for a comment about how Ginny certainly hadn’t minded his face when Hermione suddenly remembered something.

‘Oh Ronald, we all got letters today, about a portrait.’

‘Oh...of who?’ Ron replies, tone suggesting he thought that whatever this conversation was it didn't sound more interesting than Quidditch.

‘One they want to do of us.’ Harry clarified. ‘Some place, uhhh Horse something museum.’ He added, trying to remember the name. Ron freezes. Harry blinks, the subject is serious if it moves Ron to stop eating.

‘Horskin Museum of Portraiture?’ He asks through a mouth full of potato. No doubt a normal person would find him hard to understand, but the pair had been suffering through hearing, and sadly seeing, Ron talk with his mouthful since they were 11. Harry nodded, subconsciously leaning back with a wary look in his eye. He’d had his fair share of food spat at him by a surprised Ron in his time. ‘Oh my god.’ He swallowed, blinking in shock.

‘Is it well known?’ Hermione asked.

‘Is it well known?! It's only like the most famous attraction in London. Every kid has been there.’ He cried in disbelief. Well someone had better tell Buckingham Palace that, Harry thought as he tried to bite back a sigh. Ron always seemed to forget he and Hermione grew up in Muggle homes. He had one time confessed that he often forgot that he hadn’t known them since they were toddlers. Like they had always been there, as though falsely inserted into his pre-Hogwarts childhood memories. ‘It's full of famous witches and wizards from bloody centuries back. You can see ‘em and they tell you stories and you have photos with 'em.’

‘Kind of like Madame Tussaud’s?’ Hermione mused, sharing a knowing look with Harry. Ah, they’ve played this game before, Wizarding childhood vs muggle childhood culture clash. It wasn’t strictly what Harry would call an issue but their culture clash came up pretty often in the years they’d known each other. It was usually minor things, childhood references, cultural norms things like that. No matter how long Harry and Hermione had lived as wizards it was hard not to feel left out sometimes around purebloods. It felt like being out of the loop like they had missed something in a conversation that made a punchline funny. Of course, there were also times that Ron must have felt out of his depth when the pair spoke about muggle things or they all visited muggle London. The pair had made the mistake one time of informing Ron that one of his beloved childhood books was a rip off a muggle book released almost 5 years earlier once. The names ‘Conrad the Charming ChooChoo’ and ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ were no longer allowed to be spoken in the house.

‘Madame who now?’ Ron asked, returning to his plate of food, seemingly over some of his initial shock.

‘It’s a wax museum, full of wax models of famous people.’ Hermione filled in.

‘Oh yeah, I guess like that except way less creepy sounding. And it’s better cos they talk, unless, do muggle wax figures talk?’ Hermione and Harry shook their heads in unison. Harry tried not to imagine how horrifying that would look. Ron shrugged and carried on. ‘Obviously some of the older ones are a bit limited on how many phrases they’ve got but it’s like the coolest thing, real pirates and shit.’ He continued. ‘And they want us to be portraits in the museum?’ His voice almost disbelieving.

‘Yeah.’

‘Jesus. That’s not the sort of thing that just happens to people y’know.’ Ron breathed.

‘Feel like a lot of things just happen to us.’ Harry laughed.

‘Mums gonna flip.’ Ron mumbled, seemingly to himself.

‘So you’re voting yes Ron?’ Hermione asked, pointing at him with her signature ‘I’m Hermione Granger and I’m taking action’ body language.

'Oh you don’t turn down this kind of an offer, like this is a big deal.’ Ron insisted, looking at her as though she were mad for even suggesting turning the offer down.

‘Ok, Harry?’ She asked. Harry nodded slowly. ‘Right ok, let’s figure out when we’re next free and Harry can owl them tomorrow with a meeting time and date.’ She concluded. ‘I think they’d like to hear it from you best.’ She added apologetically as Harry sighed. He really didn’t like sending letters, not since Hedwig. Their new owl, Albert, a screech owl they'd bought from Mr Thorwick, was a lovely bird but it just wasn't the same without her. The act he'd once valued had lost some of its charm. Now it was just a chore, something he had once enjoyed but couldn't, like his brain had forgotten how to.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this. I've never written a HP fic before as I have only ever really written Hobbit fics. I hope I managed to capture their voices well.  
> I've made assumptions about Quidditch probably requiring similar muscle groups as horse riding and the flexibility and strength of a gymnast, so training will be inspired mainly by two sports.  
> There will be some wizarding portrait lore coming up in the next few chapters, based on my own knowledge as an artist. Thinking about how an artist tackles a subject that's both 2d and 3d and how they ensure the paintings bodies anatomically work.


End file.
